


The Swamp Singer

by TheTravelerWrites



Series: Commissions [17]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Exophilia, F/M, Frog Fae, Interspecies Relationship, fae, swamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 19:36:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21041639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTravelerWrites/pseuds/TheTravelerWrites
Summary: A 2000 word commission for @envy-kitty, the second place prize for the 2000 follower giveaway!A young herbalist hears singing from the swamp near her home, where she often gathers ingredients for her remedies, and decided to befriend the singer.





	The Swamp Singer

_Though I am a frog,_  
_ And I live in a bog,_  
_ I lament that I’m alone._

_I sing and I sing,_  
_ Hoping it might bring_  
_ A friend to call my own._

You heard this song every evening. The voice was a coarse and croaky baritone, but strangely not unpleasant, and you wondered if it really was a frog singing its sad song.

You didn’t live in the swamp, but you were close. You were an herbalist and owned the apothecary of the nearby village, and a lot of your stock came from the swamp, so you were in and out of that place rather often.

It had been you, at first, to sing. As you were gathering ingredients for a tincture, you were humming an old lullaby to yourself as you gathered, not noticing at first that there was a second voice harmonizing with you. Just the knowledge that you weren’t alone was enough to startle you, and in what was considerably not your finest moment, you shrieked and dropped all of your things, running back toward your cottage as fast as your feet could carry you.

Though, the next morning, you found your basket, gloves, and ingredients sitting on your front doorstep, plus all the items on your list you’d yet to gather when you made your wild flight from the swamp. There was also a a small bundle of flowers tied neatly with flaxen fibers. You picked them up carefully and sniffed the sweet scent.

Perhaps you’d been too hasty the day before. There was no law against strolling in the swamp the same day as someone else, or joining someone in song. That evening was the first time you heard the sad refrain and felt a little guilty. Perhaps… perhaps being friends wasn’t out of the question. At the very least, you should apologize for being so abrupt and rude in your exit.

You made your medicines and tinctures, salves and poultices, stocking your store with the newly made remedies. You were good at what you did, thanks to your family’s tutelage, and within days you were sold out again, which meant another trek into the swamp. You tried to put it off as long as you could, a little out of fear and a little out of shame, but your stockroom was nearly empty by this point and it couldn’t be delayed any longer. Gathering your courage, you lists, and your basket, you headed out.

This time, you heard the humming first, but it was soft and far away, far enough away that you didn’t react as rashly as you had a few days before. The song was unfamiliar to you but pretty, in a strange way. During the bridge, you decided to speak up.

“Stranger,” You called, not shouting but loudly enough to be heard. “Why do you spend your time singing in the swamp?”

“Why don’t you sing along with me?” The voice responded shyly.

Despite yourself, you had to smile. “I would, Stranger, but I’m afraid I don’t know that song.”

It didn’t speak again while you continued your picking and collecting, though you did catch a soft hum a few times. When you had finished your work in the bog, you said “goodbye” to the distance as you left. A returning croak answered you.

If you were to be honest, you actually felt much safer in the swamp afterward, especially when you heard his rough humming nearby. There were aggressive or carnivorous animals in the swamp, and working alone could be dangerous.

In fact, there was a time or two that you heard a distant angry creature, to be silenced a moment later to be followed by a friendly croaking, reassuring you that all was safe, and you would smile.

You only needed to go into the swamp once a week, and you heard their humming every time, though sometimes it would sing out lyrics to the songs you heard.

“Why do you always sing, my friend?” You asked again.

“In hopes that you would sing along with me,” The voice responded.

You laughed. “I would, friend, but I don’t know that song.”

“I can teach you, if you like,” The voice ventured carefully.

“I would like that,” You replied. “But I only come out to the swamp every so often.”

“And I will be here when you do,” They said. “I will always be here to sing for you.”

“And it will be my pleasure to listen,” You replied as you made your way home.

You began to notice patterns. Certain songs would bring about gentle rains, and others would pull up mist around the bog. Others still would part the clouds and clear the swamp, making it perfect for picking. You even realized at one point that, unless there was a dire need for rain, the cycle of the weather seemed to be centered around your schedule for collecting ingredients. In fact, it always had. You wondered how long they had lived in the swamp, and if they were alone. If so, how long had they been alone?

After more than a month, you realized you’d yet to learn your swamp friend’s name. So, one day, you went out with a picnic and sat on the small pier that was over the water that sometimes you’d fish off of, and called out, “Are you there, friend?”

They answered immediately. “I am always here.”

“It occurs to me that we’ve been talking all this time, but I don’t know much about you,” You said. “What’s your name, if you please?”

“Lilyfoot,” the voice replied. “What is yours.”

You told them. “Are you a boy or a girl?”

“A boy. I think,” He said.

“You think?”

“Well, our kind don’t think in those terms, really.”

“Your kind?”

“Fae creatures.”

Fae? You sat up sharply, beginning to feel a little nervous. “You don’t plan to spirit me away to the Otherworld, do you?”

You heard a gentle laugh. “Goodness no. It’s terribly boring there. I like it better here. With you.”

You flushed a little. “Why don’t you ever show yourself?”

There was a small silence. “…I’m not as pretty as you.”

“I don’t mind that,” You replied.

“I do,” Lilyfoot said. “I do not wish to frighten you.”

“You wouldn’t frighten me,” You assured him.

“You don’t know that,” He said mournfully. “I scared you by singing. I didn’t mean to, I just liked your song.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry about that. You just startled me, is all. I’ve been coming into the swamp for years now and I never heard another person. How long have you lived here?”

“Not long,” They admitted. “I was ousted from my old home by a naga, so I came here. There were no hostile entities to eject me, but it was when I heard singing that I decided to stay. It was so nice to hear.”

“You stayed because of me?” You asked, surprised.

“You have a lovely voice. Mine is not so nice, but I liked singing with you.”

“Your voice is… unique,” You said.

You heard the gentle laugh again. “That’s a kind way of saying I sound like a sick goat baying for food.”

“Not at all!” You said. “Your voice is different, but it’s not bad. In fact, I think we sound very good together.”

“Do you?” He said, his voice brightening.

“I do,” You affirmed.

“I’m glad I stayed here,” Lilyfoot said, his form ever hidden in the mist of the swamp. “It’s nice to have a friend.”

“I agree,” You said, throwing an apple in the direction of the voice. You heard it impact with something wet, and then a crunching sound. “Since I took over for my parents, I’ve been too busy to have many friends. They’re all getting married and having babies and don’t really understand why I’d rather work with toadstools and moss.”

“You do so much good, though,” Lilyfoot said around a mouthful of apple. “Your tinctures and salves help people. That’s a wonderful way to spend a life.”

“Thank you! I think so, too,” You replied.

As time passed, you felt comfortable delving deeper into the swamp, deeper than you’d ever gone before, reassured by Lilyfoot’s presence. He talked and sang, keeping you company, though he still refused to show himself, always maintaining a distance that obscured himself.

He’d teach you little bits of songs he knew, and you’d teach him songs you knew, and before long, the two of you were singing together as if it were second nature.

Perhaps you got complacent. Perhaps his presence had blinded you to the dangers of the swamp, because when the alligator flashed around and caught your leg in it’s jaws, you were taken completely by surprise.

You screamed in pain and terror, and from your left side, you heard a deafening roar as a large green blur streaked past you, slamming into the alligator with the solid weight of it’s body. The green blue coalesced into a long, skinny green man with a largish head and long dragonfly wings on his back. Wearing little more than a loincloth, he began fighting with the alligator, pressing his large thumbs into the alligator’s eyes. The alligator let go immediately with a angry growl and slapped the water with its tail as it shook its head and swam off.

You were crying from the pain, but tried to check the wounds on your leg as best as you could in the low light. There were at least seven puncture wounds that were bleeding freely. You needed to get back to the shop and get some witch’s hazel on it before an infection set in.

“I’m so sorry!” Lilyfoot said, crouching with his back to you, so you couldn’t see his face. “I’m so sorry! Please forgive me! I was so focused on singing that I forgot to listen for threats! I’m sorry!”

“Lilyfoot!” You shouted over his profuse apologizing, putting a hand on his shoulder. He was wet, but not slimy. “Please. Look at me.”

“I can’t,” He said, putting his webbed hands over his face.

“I need your help getting home,” You said softly. “I can’t walk on my own with these injuries. Please, will you help me?”

He sighed and pulled his hands away from his face, but he didn’t turn around. “You promise you won’t be afraid?” His wings were folded, but they shuddered now and then anxiously.

“I promise, Lilyfoot. You’re my friend. I couldn’t never be frightened of you. You surely can’t be as frightening as an alligator.”

He huffed a laugh and, while still crouched, slowly turned around.

His belly was white, but his face was the same color as the rest of his body, sort of a lime green. He was bald and had no earlobes. His eyes were large and his mouth was wide. He _did_ look much like a frog that had taken on human form, though the wings definitely gave away his fae heritage.

“There now,” You said with a smile. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

He ducked his head and his lips stretched in a wide, wide smile. “I shouldn’t have been so suspicious. You’re a true friend. I should have known you’d never have hated me.”

“Never,” You agreed. “Can you help me get home?”

He nodded and picked you up effortlessly. “Of course.”

“Will you sing to me?”

He chuckled as he walked you back to your cottage. “Only if you’ll sing along with me.”

“Of course,” You replied, putting an arm around his neck and snugging into his chest. “We always sound the best when we sing together.”


End file.
